


Watering Hole

by penny



Series: FMA in Roanapur [3]
Category: Black Lagoon, Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: no_true_pair, Crossover, F/M, Gunkink, tipsy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penny/pseuds/penny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kimberly's suitably impressed by the Lagoon chick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watering Hole

**Author's Note:**

> For the No True Pair prompt "intoxication".

The Yellow Flag's a dive, but it's the best dive in Roanapur. Kimberly likes that it doesn't pretend to be something better. And he likes that Bao doesn't pull shit like watering down the whiskey.

He's pleasantly drunk by the time the Lagoon chick shows up. Alone, which is, according to Archer's intelligence, rare, and in a foul mood, which is, according to Archer's intelligence, normal. She takes the stool one down from him and slings her arm on the bar. "Bao, rum. And leave the bottle."

Bao hesitates before pouring her the shot. "You cause trouble, Revy, and I'll give you a new asshole between the eyes." He frowns at her and leaves the bottle.

"Yeah, yeah." She downs it, wipes her mouth, pours another.

Kimberly eyes her. She feels it -- chick may be out of control, but at least she's aware of her surroundings -- and glances over at him. "You're the crazy fuck Archer imported."

"Yes."

"Columbians are down. Don't you have places to go?"

"People to do?" Kimberly grins. "Buildings to blow?"

The Lagoon chick flashes him a feral smile. "What you did to their safe house was a fucking work of art."

"Why thank you." It had been good work, some of his best. He lets his grin widen. It's not quite as feral as hers -- age tends to give a man some measure of control -- but it's wilder than Archer likes to see from his men. Of course, Archer's learned to make exceptions for him.

She turns to face him and props her feet up on the stool between them. "So how did you know it was theirs?" She lets her glass dangle from her fingers, the rum warm and golden in the light.

Now his grin is as feral as hers. "I didn't." A lie -- he may be new to Roanapur, but he's done enough work for Archer overseas to know the kid's intelligence is accurate -- but he's under no obligation to tell the truth.

"Ha!" She downs her rum and slams the empty glass down. "You're shittin' me."

"I did the job I was hired to do."

"Yeah? After that, you shouldn't have any trouble finding work."

Archer's keeping him in Roanapur for a reason. No need to tell the Lagoon chick that -- her team's too damn cozy with Hotel Moscow -- and no need to tell her he's exclusive. She'll learn it soon enough if she wants to know. In the meantime, he'll enjoy his vacation.

The Lagoon chick watches him for a minute, then snorts and pours another glass. "So tell me something." Her smile's starting to get a little sloppy, but Kimberly doesn't think she's drunk yet. "How close were you when it blew?"

Kimberly chuckles. "Close enough." He drains the last of his whiskey, catches the Lagoon chick watching his hands, the tattoos on his palms. The whiskey hits his stomach, warm and pleasant like the first rumblings of the Colombian safe house when it blew. His cock twitches at the memory.

"Heh." She slides him the bottle, and now there's a challenge in her grin. "I knew it."

He doesn't like rum, but he pours himself a couple of fingers. The Lagoon chick is interesting. He lets his gaze drop to her Cutlasses. It's only a matter of time until he gets to see her in action. Hell, given how rowdy the poker game behind him is getting, it might even be tonight.

"Your turn," he says, running a finger around the rim of his glass. "How does it feel when you pull the trigger?"

"You wanna find out?"

He meets her eyes again. "Been on the receiving end before. I'm interested in your end."

"Haven't been on my receiving end." She thrusts out her chest. On a whore, the gesture would be an invitation. On the Lagoon chick, it's a warning. Those Cutlasses are in easy reach, and she's not known for her restraint.

"I'd be dead?" He drinks his rum. Cheap shit, and it hits him harder than the whiskey. He shoves his glass aside.

"Hell yeah."

"So certain you'd get the drop on me?"

He knows what's coming, but even so, the Lagoon chick's too fast. She draws, and Kimberly's meeting her eyes over the barrel of one of her guns. She's kicked aside the stool separating them, and there's a ring of silence spreading out around them.

"Goddamnit, Revy!" Bao's safely at the opposite end of the bar, and Kimberly takes note of the way he's hunkering down. So the bar's bulletproof, then. "What did I tell you?"

"Shut up!" She cuts a quick glance over to Bao.

It's not enough of an opening. Kimberly's too drunk to move fast enough, and if he startles her, he's sure she'll pull the trigger. So he pours another glass of rum and pushes it towards her. "So you can tonight."

"Heh." She keeps the gun trained on him as she leans in to toss back the drink.

Kimberly considers making a move, but he's only human, and he can't complain about the way her throat works as she swallows, the way she keeps the gun steady, the curl of her finger on the trigger, or the knee she's got braced between his thighs.

She leans in close so the muzzle presses over his heart. It's an invitation, at least from his perspective. He slides his hands over her hips, running his thumbs under the band of her cutoffs. Her skin's softer than he expects, smooth. "Why don't you walk me home, sweetheart."

She presses the muzzle more firmly against his chest. "Need me and my guns to protect you, baby?"

"Sure."

"Liar." She draws back and holsters her gun, then slides out from under his hands.

He shrugs. "Does anyone here tell the truth?"

Her expression darkens for an instant. Kimberly almost laughs. She's so easy to read, pitifully easy, but then, she doesn't need to be guarded. She's not like Archer or Chang or the Hotel Moscow bitch. She's muscle, pure and simple.

"Anyone besides your little puppy," Kimberly amends, and he does laugh, low and soft, when her hand twitches towards her guns. "Who's oddly absent."

"You got a death wish?"

"You did call me a crazy fuck." He rises and slides his hands in his pockets. "And I am crazy enough to let you walk me home."

She looks him over. She's leering, yes, but it's also the appraisal one crazy fuck gives another. It's the kind of look that ends with a fight or a fuck or sometimes both.

"Come on, sweetheart." He brushes past her, tossing a quick grin over his shoulder.

It's humid outside, and the street smells like booze and sex and blood and shit. Kimberly keeps his hands in his pockets and tilts his head back, turns into the alley, which, surprisingly, smells a little better than the street. The Lagoon chick's trailing along behind him, and he listens to her footsteps, is ready when she makes her move.

He turns so he's facing her when she rams him up against the Yellow Flag's wall. "No gun?"

"Shut up." She presses against him. The butts of her guns grind against him.

This time, he gets his knee between her thighs. She rocks against his leg, runs her hands through his hair, threads her fingers through the base of his ponytail and pulls his head back. She kisses his neck, though it's mostly teeth, hard nips that will leave a mark. Kimberly doesn't care. He'll heal, and he'd be disappointed if she were tender.

She smacks his hand away when he tries to get it down her pants but lets him slide his hands around her waist. He doesn't object when she unfastens his pants, gets her hand around his cock, and jerks him fully hard. It feels damn good. Her hands aren't soft, fingers calloused, and she's squeezing just right.

"Come on, sweet--"

"Shut up." It's her litany as she rides his leg, her breath hot and jagged on his neck. She buries her head in the crook of his shoulder and bites hard when she comes.

Kimberly's not far behind her. He digs his fingers into her hips. Hard, because the bite on his neck fucking hurts, because her hand, while nice, isn't a tight, wet cunt, because she's making nice, satisfied noises, because she won't break.

She pulls away. "Crazy fuck." She glares down at the come splashed across her hand.

Kimberly laughs and pulls loose his tie. "Here, sweetheart. I'm afraid I don't carry a handkerchief."

She glares at him, but she takes his tie and wipes her hands clean while he refastens his pants and straightens himself up. His shirt's a lost cause, and the back of his jacket has to be filthy, but his room isn't too far, and one of the perks of working for Archer is access to a competent -- and discreet -- laundry service.

"Not interested in walking me the rest of the way home?"

She frowns and starts for one of her guns, then stops. "An old shit like you? I'll be there the rest of the night waiting for you to get it up again."

"Suit yourself." He saunters past her. "See you around."


End file.
